


Five Times Steve Slept on Bucky's Couch +  One Time He Didn't Have To

by autumn_hare



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1, Alternate Universe - College, Christmas, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, No-powers, Pining, Recreational Drinking, Skinny Steve, Snowed In, copious amounts of tropes (no really I ran hog wild), idiots falling in love, mentions of past character death (Sarah Rogers), pre-serum steve, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_hare/pseuds/autumn_hare
Summary: (Inspired bythisinterview where Anthony Mackie decides to wax Poetic about Sebastian Stan’s couch)5 times Steve slept on Bucky’s couch and 1 time he didn’t have to. Steve, a very small very stressed art major doesn’t have many friends - that is until his roommates girlfriend forcibly introduces him to hers. Tony, Sam, Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Bucky (AKA: That Hot Guy That Jogs Around Campus) are a rather unlikely family, bonded through movie nights, comfy couches, and one too many glasses of whatever Clint poured - for the first time, Steve feels like he found a new family. However, disaster strikes, as it so often does, when Steve realizes that he has feelings for his newly acquired best friend, Bucky. Can he keep it a secret? Does he dare say anything? Would it ruin everything he has found? Through costume party and through Valentine’s day, through Christmas and sickness and stress, Steve keeps falling for Bucky (not to mention falling asleep on his couch), but can you really blame him? After all, it’s a really nice couch.





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration with the wonderful [Jasmine!](https://koreanrage.tumblr.com/) who did all the amazing art for this! <3

Bucky has a nice couch. Actually, ‘nice’ is a terrible description of Bucky’s couch; perhaps it would better fall along the lines of ‘godly’ or ‘absurdly comfortable.’ It’s the kind of couch that prompts all of their friends to host movie night at Bucky’s  _ (again)  _ just so they can fight over who gets a coveted seat. So yeah, Bucky has a  _ really  _ nice couch. 

The first time Steve slept on Bucky’s couch, he really didn’t mean to, he swears. It had been sometime in October, just a couple weeks after they had met and Nat had insisted  _ (heavily threatened) _ that Steve attend a ‘movie night.’ 

“Come on Rogers, no excuses. You already said yes.” 

Steve feigned a high pitched cough. “I’m under the weather?” it sounded more like a question, and Natasha met it with silence. 

“Fine, give me fifteen to make a salad,” he grumbled, Natasha taking that as her cue to move from the doorway of his dorm to sit smugly on the couch. Steve walked to his tiny kitchenette, listening to his bones creak as he bent down to open the mini fridge he shared with Clint. (You could tell whose shelf was whose with a glance). He had the spinach out and was halfway to a balsamic dressing in seconds flat. 

“You know it’s not a potluck, right? Stark said he would order Thai,” Natasha called from across the room, picking uninterestedly at her nails. 

“I don’t really know this guy, I feel bad just barging in on his apartment,” he said, narrowly avoiding accidentally squirting lemon juice in his eye. 

“You’re not barging, I’m barging, you’re my hostage,” she said, getting up and walking over to lean against the counter, her nails still apparently more interesting than anything else. Steve couldn’t blame her, after you knew Clint for more than a week or so his mess became less endearing and more… uninteresting. And a nuisance, really. He couldn’t understand how she could date him. (Although he was grateful, Natasha forcing her way into his life was just what it took to help Steve make new friends) 

“Wow that makes me feel so much better about this,” Steve screwed the lid onto his tiny mason jar of dressing, “You know you didn’t have to invite me to this.” 

“Invite? Excuse you, Rogers, how dare you assume you had a choice in this. Also, I’ve said it before, by hook or by fucking crook I will force you to have a social life.” She stole a craisin from the bowl where he was throwing whatever salad toppings he could find in his meagerly stocked cupboards. “Also, they’re all kind of insufferable and it’s good to have someone else sane around.” 

Steve thought that was probably the nicest thing he had ever heard Nat say. 

“Haven’t you dated like half of them?” he asked, smiling as he saran wrapped the bowl. 

“Irrelevant, now come on, get your fucking salad and let’s go, I want to watch Die Hard.” 

Not long later, Steve was being pushed past the threshold of Bucky’s apartment, nearly dropping his salad as Natasha manhandled him through the door. 

He was nervous, of course he was, it was Steve, but Natasha had the lovely skill of making you more afraid of her than you were anxious about anything else. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was efficient. Plus, it’s not really like you could get rid of her if you wanted to. If nat decided you were her friend, you were her friend. Good thing Steve didn’t want to get rid of her. (after all, she was the current only thing standing between Steve and a college life spent lonely and in solitude) 

“No turning back now.” She hissed, turning to call out her greeting to everyone else. 

Bucky came out of the kitchen to greet them, smiling as he got a punch in the arm from Nat and then quirking an eyebrow at a very disheveled Steve and his bowl. 

“Hey Steve, good to see ya again,” he peered into the bowl, “did you bring salad?” 

“Uh… yes?” He suddenly felt nervous; he had only been introduced to Bucky a little while ago when second year started, and he had quickly turned into ‘that one acquaintance with the odd major that jogs around near campus that Steve  _ totally _ doesn’t stare at because of his amazing thighs.’  _ (it’s because of his amazing ass).  _ So yeah, Steve was a little nervous to be showing up at his door with a salad he now realized he really should have listened to Nat about. Fuck her and her weird hot scary friends. 

“I told him not to bring it!” She called from what Steve presumed was the living room. He winced at Bucky, hoping it looked more like a smile. 

“Hey that’s awesome, thanks bud,” he reached out to take the bowl, laughing as Steve stumbled to shove it into his hands a little too eagerly, “Who knows, maybe we can finally convince Clint to try a vegetable.” 

They both chuckled, Steve following Bucky into the kitchen at his behest. Bucky’s apartment was nice, the kind of place that would feel homey to anyone. Steve still felt a little out of place, he had never been to Sam and Bucky’s place, but it was a comfortable out of place, if that made any sense. 

“Help yourself to Thai, Tony always goes overboard and orders like he forgets 107 is the apartment number and not a freaking regiment. It’s crazy, I swear I had never seen one man overestimate how much a few college students could eat in a sitting–” he cast a laugh over his shoulder as he peeled the saran off Steve’s salad “–and I’ve seen Sam order McDonalds drunk.” 

Yeah, okay, Bucky was a cool dude. Steve could maybe forgive Natasha for this whole ‘forcibly socializing’ him thing. Maybe. 

“Steeeeeve! Buckyyyyyy! Hurry uuuup,” Clint screamed. Steve rolled his eyes and moved to hastily scoop up some Thai food into one of the bowls on the counter. Bucky set out the salad and, not unnoticed by a very grateful Steve, scooped some into a bowl for himself. 

“I swear on god and everything that is holy we will start The Matrix without you if you don’t get over here right now.” Ah, and that was Tony. Such lovely friends that Steve has. (if you could call them his friends yet, it was a tentative title.)

He walked into the living room to see them all piled together on the couch. 

“I thought we were watching Die Hard?” Steve said, heading towards one of the plush looking chairs to get a seat. 

“If Nat got to choose we would  _ always  _ watch Die Hard,” Tony said, attempting to shove Clint’s feet off his lap and not spill his food. He wasn’t successful. 

“What, it’s a good movie.” 

Before Steve had a chance to address that, let alone laugh at it, Clint was shouting at him. 

“Wait!” he screeched, a startled Steve hovering just above the armchair he was about to sit in. 

“What?” Steve stood up and whipped around to inspect his almost-seat. He had lived with Clint long enough (yes, six weeks was long enough) to know to be rightfully afraid of what he could have possibly sat in. His house or not, chaos seemed to follow Clint like the plague. Or maybe some type of mould. 

“Before you sit could you pretty please get me another spring roll from the kitchen?” Clint flashed his crooked teeth. 

“Ugh,” Steve flopped down into his seat, much to Clint’s disappointment, “and just why can’t you get them yourself?” 

“Picking on the disabled guy? New low for you, Steve, and I thought we were close,” Clint wiped away an imaginary tear. 

“You’re partially deaf, you ass, as far as I’m concerned you’re fully able to get yourself a spring roll.” Steve bit into his own to make a point. Clint threw himself sideways into Natasha’s arms. 

“You  _ wound  _ me, Rogers.” 

“Oh shut it you big baby, I won’t let anyone steal your seat.” Natasha pushed his feet off her lap where they had found a home and he toppled onto the floor. He landed with a thud, jumping up and running to the kitchen. 

Quicker than he could have imagined him moving, Bucky was in Clint’s spot, Natasha smiling conspiratorially next to him. 

“Oh you bitch,” Clint said, returning with spring roll laden hands as he plonked himself into one of the chairs. He proceeded to glare at Bucky and Nat as Tony turned on the movie. 

“I bring myself all the way here and bless you all with my charm and roguish good looks, and what do I get in return? My seat on the ultra-comfy couch stolen? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.” Clint pouted into his spring roll. 

“Ultra comfy couch?” Steve questioned, feeling rather like he was missing out on some sort of movie night lore. 

“Have none of you heard of the sanctity of the opening scene?” Tony questioned, ignored by all. 

“These idiots love fighting over who gets a seat on the couch,” Sam said, piping up from his own side of said couch, a throw pillow comfortably lain on his lap. 

“It’s a pretty damn good couch,” Bucky said, patting the soft leather, “Found it on the side of the road last year, best free-score of my life.” 

“I swear I’ve searched high and low for this fucking couch everywhere I can think of, I’d pay a fucking fortune for this thing,” Tony said, evidently so interested in the couch that he sacrificed the opening scene himself. But Steve didn’t doubt his words, he had casually known Tony for long enough that he was sure he would spend a fortune on it, but that if he couldn’t find it, it wasn’t going to be found. “I swear you’d think the fucking thing was bespoke.” 

“Ah, Tony you’re just not  _ worthy  _ of the beauty and luxury that is this couch,” Bucky laughed. 

“Ugh, you sound like that Swedish exchange student,” Tony said, scowling. He crossed his arms and leaned back into the deep cushions, his Thai balanced forgotten on his lap. 

“Shush it Tony, you ever heard of the sanctity of the opening scene?” Sam said, failing to keep a blank face. 

The group erupted in easy laughter. 

It was nice, Steve thought. He was glad he was here - some little part of him wished he could take part in more of the stories, or get more of the jokes, but he was here. He was here and not alone eating leftover and questionable pizza from Clint’s side of the fridge, and that counted as a win no matter how you looked at it. 

He knew most of everyone here pretty decently too; Clint was his roommate, and through him he had met Nat - he had known Tony for years (being friends with Peggy meant you passingly knew lots of people in lots of places), but they hadn’t grown closer until they had more people in common, he had never really been Steve’s type of guy. Sam he knew from that pol-sci class he took last semester, and the group had recently introduced him to Bucky. They were all closer to each other than any of them were to Steve, but he was used to that kind of thing, so it was okay, really. 

So given that, Steve really wasn’t expecting to be wedged between Natasha and Bucky, basically on top of both of them, in less than a few hours. They had finished the Matrix accompanied by hot toddies _ (or at least what Clint was calling a hot toddy, because according to Sam “that’s not a hot toddy Clint, that’s not even tea, that’s literally just vodka in coffee”) _ , and in retrospect, someone should probably have just given up their seat so Clint wasn’t the one doing the pouring. None of the others of course were really feeling much, Steve could have sworn Tony was stone cold sober, but Steve on the other hand, little ninety five pound Steve was feeling the alcohol quite strongly right about now, thank you very much. Hence him ending up on the couch only a few minutes into Die Hard. 

Natasha was giggling at him, not really paying attention to the movie, instead poking him in the side of the face every time his eyes would start to close. It wasn’t his fault, vodka made him sleepy, and he had a very respectable bedtime of nine o’clock, not that he was about to tell any of them that. 

  
  
  
  


“Stevie’s asleep,” Natasha announced, draining her third cup of what looked suspiciously not like coffee, and just like vodka. 

“M’not,” he mumbled, trying to figure out who he was leaning against that was so warm. His eyes opened to find a very amused looking Bucky staring back. Steve couldn’t be bothered with the whole not knowing him thing, he knew that he was warm and comfortable and that was enough. And if he wanted to fall asleep right there and right then, well that was his damn prerogative. The rest of them, surprisingly let him. 

  
  
  
  


Steve woke up to the quiet sounds of someone in the kitchen. They were humming - it was sweet. He didn’t bother to think of who, in who’s kitchen, but honestly nothing could possibly matter at all when the blankets he was curled under were so soft and leather of the couch was so warm. 

Wait. 

Couch. 

He was on a couch. 

Whose fucking couch?

  
  


Steve bolted upright, immediately regretting it when his head pounded with nausea. When he managed to peel his eyes open he remembered, ah, right, Bucky’s couch. 

Wait. 

Bucky’s couch. 

Had Steve fallen asleep on the fucking couch? Screw Clint and screw his stupid vodka coffees. And screw Bucky’s stupid comfortable couch. 

It really was a nice couch. 

Steve groaned, prompting a head to poke out around the corner from the kitchen. 

“Morning sleepyhead, I hope you like hash browns,” Bucky said, smiling and popping back into the kitchen. Steve, unable to part with the soft cashmere of the blanket around him, simply wrapped it tighter and attempted to waddle to where he had seen Bucky disappear. 

He had expected to find everyone else, but what he found instead was Bucky, alone and dancing softly to whatever he was humming. He was in front of the stove, stirring what was presumably hashbrowns. 

“I was gonna do bacon,” Bucky said before Steve could say anything, “but Nat said last night you were vegetarian so I stuck to hashbrowns,” he turned to smile at Steve, who was honestly too hungover and flabbergasted to fully take in that he had fallen asleep on hot jogging guys couch and hot jogging guy was now making him breakfast, “It’s not too late though if you wanna give meat another shot, I won’t blame you, it’s pretty damn good bacon,” he laughed, going back to humming. Abba, Steve realized, hot jogging guy was humming Abba. (And he should probably start calling him Bucky in his head, but that was an issue he would need to take up with his brain when it was a little less like hot mush) 

“I’msosorryforgettingdrunkandfallingasleeponyourcouchyoureallydon’thaveto-” He started to ramble incoherently before Bucky cut him off with a smile and a wave of his wooden spatula. 

“No problem at all, Steve, falling asleep on that couch is pretty much a rite of passage.” Bucky smiled at him in a warm kind of way that made Steve wish he was wearing his glasses so he could remember it and sketch it later. “The others all drifted out a while ago, morning classes and stuff - Nat said you didn’t have any though so I just let you sleep.” 

Steve wasn’t going to think about how or why Natasha had his entire schedule memorized. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, watching Bucky get plates out. 

“Thanks Buck,” Steve said, letting the nickname slip out in his tired hungover daze. 

They moved back to the couch in a minute, lazily eating Bucky’s  _ delicious  _ hash browns and watching crappy daytime television. 

Yeah, okay, maybe new friends wasn’t such a bad thing (especially if they all had couches like that). 


	2. Two.

“Come _ on _Steve we’re going to be late!” Clint whined from the door of their dorm, idly trying to pick the wedgie from his latex Black-Widow costume. 

It was Tony’s annual Halloween party, joy. Steve was attempting - emphasis on attempt - to fix his hair in the mirror – he had no idea how guys managed it in the 40s. Making sure all his pins and badges were straight, Steve hastily threw on the hat that completed his (period accurate, he might add) pre-serum Captain America costume. It was superhero themed, Steve didn’t really have that many options, okay? 

“There’s still gonna be booze when we get there, not even Tony can drink as much as he buys,” he said, shrugging on his coat and following Clint out the door. 

“Hey you wanna try trick-or-treating before we get to his place? I bet everyone in that neighbourhood gives out the full bars,” Clint suggested as they walked down the hall of their dorm. 

“You’re wearing fake boobs, Clint,” Steve said, still confused as to how few brain cells the man could appear to have. 

“Yeah? And?” 

  
  


Tony’s house was full of people, bodies moving and colliding to the tune of music Steve didn’t recognise. Clint had rushed off long ago to where he must have seen Natasha (dressed as hawkeye, leave it to them to have the oddest version of a couples costume imaginable), leaving Steve stranded and alone. He had been there, what, half an hour? And had yet to see anyone he knew. It was horrid. His drink tasted like strawberries and future hangover and he wished he was back at home in Brooklyn, handing out candy to little kids. 

“Hey there, boogie woogie bugle boy, looking for some company?” Steve turned around from where he had been leaning against the bar, disdainfully watching the party goers. Bucky stood there, a glorious distraction from watching Wonder Woman vomit on Green Lantern. The music thrummed over his voice. 

“Ah, here to rescue me, my knight in shining…” Steve’s eyes washed over Bucky’s costume, “...arm.” 

“Doesn’t sound quite as good, but I’ll take it,” Bucky laughed, pushing the lank hair out of his face that was usually in a bun. It really completed the Winter Soldier costume. (So did his thighs, not that Steve noticed)

  
  


Steve took another sip of his drink with a wince. Bad, but probably not as bad as whatever dark looking something Bucky had in his cup. 

“Just coke,” Bucky said. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. How…

“Saw you looking. I’m not really much of a ‘let’s get wasted in the suburbs kind of guy’” Bucky took a swig of his coke with his non-metal arm. 

“God, neither am I - I probably wouldn’t have even come if Natasha hadn’t threatened me,” he laughed, glad he finally had someone to talk to. 

“Bodily harm or public mortification?” 

“Actually a bit of both.” 

“Ooh, she’s getting creative.” 

They shared a laugh, Steve looking for a spot to set his empty drink down. 

“Mm,” Bucky brought his own cup to his lips, “I’m almost done too, let’s go scrounge for more.” 

The two of them traipsed through messy groups of people, dodging various projectiles of limbs and bodies (as well as the occasional super hero _ accoutrements _ \- memorably, a giant hammer of some sort.) 

The bar, and it really was a bar, leave it to Tony Stark to have an actual bar in his house, was stocked with seemingly everything a college student could possibly want. Bucky poured himself another soda; Steve considered that too, but after watching a particularly excited looking freshman in a red and blue leotard fly past on the shoulders of Thor, a Swedish exchange student, who was built like (and dressed like) a god, he opted for something a little more volatile. 

“Easy there, Captain,” Bucky leaned against the counter with the kind of ease that would have made Steve think there was something more in his cola if he hadn’t seen Bucky pour it. How could a person just _ be _like that. Steve scowled, but couldn’t be angry with Bucky smiling at him. He dared anyone to try. 

He tipped a little more than was necessary into his cup – if he was going to be at this stupid thing he might as well drink Tony’s liquor. 

  
  
  


“You know it’s kind of like a couples costume,” Steve slurred out, his hand rushing out to meet Bucky’s arm as he almost pitched over. Steve giggled, he had been doing alot of that in the past thirty minutes he had spent huddled by the bar with Bucky. 

He straightened himself using Bucky’s sturdy figure, and hey, if he felt up a bicep while he was at it that was _ not _his fault. 

“I think you might be reading a little into the subcontext there, Stevie.” Bucky let a gloved hand fall on Steve’s side, lightly holding him up. 

Steve laughed, leaning into the touch. 

“Okay maybe just a little, but s’not what I meant.” Steve, at the moment, was having a tough time remembering what he meant, let alone conveying it. 

“Just, y’know,” he waved between the two of them, “same…” Steve hiccuped and hoped that it sufficed to explain his point. 

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky grinned, lightly taking the cup from Steve’s hand. 

“I’m just gonna set this _ right _down and you can talk all you want ab-” Bucky was cut off as Clint barrelled into Steve, the three of them bumping against the bar on impact. 

“Steve! I didn’t know you were here!” Clint clutched at Steve’s shoulders like an aunt that hadn’t seen him in years. 

“Didn’t you two show up together?” Bucky attempted to disentangle himself from where he was pressed between the bar and Steve. 

“Maybe?” Steve squinted at Clint, “Where are your boobs?” 

“Not important, think Tony has ‘em.” Clint shook his head.“Anyways, keg stands, corner, now, need I say more?” 

There wasn’t much, if anything, more that Clint could have said that would have convinced Steve that was a good idea. There was, however, something Bucky could say. 

“Clint that’s an awful idea, me and Bucky are goo-” 

“It’s cool, you go, Steve.” Bucky took a step back from them, tossing his head back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go talk to the non-Clint Black Widow over there.”

Steve squinted and saw a girl even more scantily clad than Clint, then watched as Bucky gave a salute to them and headed over. 

Shit. Shit shit _ shit. _

God, Steve, fucked that one up good. His mind swam with the couples costume comment - way to make a dude uncomfortable, Steve. And not just a dude, your new (super attractive) friend, whom all of your other friends are friends with, that could definitely impair your social life with messing up royally. 

At least Bucky was nice enough not to flat out say something, but Steve got the hint. 

The other hint Steve was currently getting was the incessant tug on his sleeve, from Clint, and that hint said very clearly “let's do keg stands and forget how to walk.”

Honestly? Steve could do with a little more pity drinking. 

  
  


Say what you will about Thor, but the dude could drink. He was also strong enough to lift you upside down without help to do a keg stand, if you so please. And many did. Steve had watched as Clint, then that freshman (Peter), then Natasha (who managed to do it without any help at all, suspending herself in the handstand for a terrifyingly long time) all tried their hand. And Steve, who is many things but _ not _a quitter, soon found himself atop Thor’s shoulders, nose still burning from the gross beer. 

Steve, while normally a very polite and reserved person, also weighed approximately 97.6 pounds - this, as I’m sure one can expect, impaired his alcohol tolerance quite significantly, and that, in turn, looped around to affect that ‘polite and reserved’ thing. Drunk Steve was a mixed bag, and tonight the cat was fucking _ out _of it. 

The night got a little fuzzy at that point. Steve, had you asked him later, would have only been able to tell you a few concrete things:

  1. He at one point, had a hammer, and then proceeded to loose his hammer privileges
  2. He lost said hammer privileges by clocking someone with it (he cannot remember who, but he does remember them deserving it) 
  3. He fell off Thor’s shoulders, not once, but three times
  4. He started a small scale chant/riot by slurring a very enthusiastic “avengers, assemble” from atop said shoulders (remind Tony to pick a more tame theme next year)
  5. Natasha, when she managed to get ahold of him, pinched him _very hard. _

“Come on, Rogers--” She hooked her arm in his, less friendly than it looked, more threatening “--you’re done for the night,” she said, frog marching him towards a very sober, very amused looking Bucky. 

“Nonono Nat no I ca-” he attempted to beg and claw at her grip, only making her grip him tighter. 

“Yup, yes you can, Bucky here is going to take your drunk ass home.” 

He whined, trying desperately to figure out a way to tell Natasha his mistake without alerting Bucky (said mistake, standing close by against a car) 

He tip-toed his way up to her ear, trying his best attempt at a whisper. 

“You don’t -” he hiccuped loudly in her ear, “I tried to hit on him and it went _ bad _and now I don’t wanna--” he teetered on his feet, trying to keep his balance “--I don’t wanna make him uncomfy.” 

She pulled back, looked at him, her expression blank. 

“Too bad, so sad. James, get the door.” 

  


And so, there Steve sat, trying his very best to sit up as he rode in the passenger seat of Bucky’s car. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, try not to throw up, kay? I think Sam would throttle me.” Bucky laughed; Steve could see him casting a glance his way. 

“Don’t worry, ‘m not,” Steve leaned his head against the window, relishing in the cool and trying desperately to not think about what was happening. 

He was wasted and getting driven home by the guy who rejected him a few hours before. 

“Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? You sure you’re not gonna hurl?” 

“Yes, yeah, ‘m sure, just…” Steve tried to shake the dizziness from his head, regretting that choice as it swelled behind his eyes, “I’m sure driving me home isn’t how you wanted your night to end.” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Stevie.” 

There was silence for a bit, punctuated by Steve’s poking around the control centre of the car after his elated discovery of heated seats. 

“Here,” Bucky unlocked and passed his phone to Steve, “put on whatever you want.” 

Steve, grateful for something to occupy himself instead of wallowing or poking through Sam’s glove compartment, squinted at Bucky’s music until he spotted something he knew. 

Had he been sober, he would have loved the chance to snoop - but, as that was determinately not the case, he clicked play on some Billie Holiday before he dropped the phone. 

Bucky hummed his approval and turned the volume on the stereo up. 

Soon, much to Steve’s drunken approval, they were both belting out the lyrics, the croony voice on the stereo outmatched by two very enthusiastic college students. 

Steve, laughing his way through the last note, stuttered out a warm, “I hadn’t pegged you as an ‘oldies’ kinda guy.” 

Bucky flashed him a big grin, the street lights catching on his teeth and the silver glint of his costume - when the next song started up, he just sang louder. 

  


“Shit,” Steve whined as they pulled up to his dorm block. 

“What’s up?” Bucky looked over at him, confused. He shut the car off. 

“Clint has the keys, he was the only one with pockets.” Steve cursed his stupid, accurate costume. 

“He had pockets in that thing?” Bucky snorted. 

Steve groaned, putting his head in his hands. This was the part about being drunk that he hated - the part where it wasn’t fun anymore and you felt like a 5’2” toddler. 

Bucky started the car, pulling out of the lot. 

“There’s no use going back, Clint probably already left with Nat.” 

“And there’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near that keg again, I’m not taking you back there.” 

“Huh?” Steve looked over at Bucky in confusion, wondering if he could have understood this sober. The only thing Steve really understood right then was the hard curve of Bucky’s jaw and the elastic that was twisted in his hair, the little strands that still hung down over his cheekbones, the -

“We’re going to my place, I’ll set you up on the couch again.” 

Steve, for all his brain didn’t seem to be able to comprehend, could at least remember a sliver of his manners. 

“Nooo,” he whined. A sliver, it turned out, was not quite enough. It was a start, though. 

“I’m not bothering you even more, m’not.” 

“Exactly right. You’re not bothering me at all, Steve. It’s seriously cool.” Bucky flicked on his turn signal with a silver costumed hand. This was his street already. 

“I slept on your couch last time I was over, not a cool record.” Steve watched the apartments outside pass in a dizzy blur. 

“Well that’s a problem you can remedy when you’re sober.” Bucky turned into his own lot, the music shutting off again as the engine cut out. 

Before Steve could truly contemplate his next protest, Bucky appeared in his window, opening up Steve’s door. 

“Come on, up and at’em, Captain.” 

Steve, stumbling his way out of the car, managed a lazy salute and a garbled, ‘yes, sergeant.’

When they made it up to 107 (no small feat, mind you, _ {and mind the rail Steve, jesus!} _ ), Sam, who had been reading on the couch, promptly scuttled away, with a passionate, “I _ swear _ if you vomit on the rug.”

“I won’t,” whined Steve, who wasn’t sure yet if that was true. 

With Sam safely out of the ‘splash zone’, according to him through the wall of his room, Bucky lowered Steve carefully down on the couch - unpinning a particularly sharp looking medal from his breast and replacing it with a blanket around his slim shoulders. 

“There you are. Now, sit tight, I’m gonna get you a glass of water and then you’re gonna drink it, okay?” Bucky affixed a stern look on Steve that was brightened just a little by the warm smile on his face. 

“Mhmm, yessir.” Steve watched as Bucky stood up to go to the kitchen, slipping off his satiny silver glove-sleeve thing as he walked. 

The sway in his hips reminded Steve suddenly of how he used to totally _ not _ stare at him as he jogged around campus from the window seat at the library. His stunted laugh turned into a groan as he remembered how royally he had screwed that up. Oh _ god, _and now the guy he totally made uncomfortable earlier was being made to play nursemaid for him. Nice one, Steve. Real class act you’ve been tonight. 

By the time Bucky came back with the water, Steve was already dozing (Impressively upright, but that’s neither here nor there). Steve heard Bucky chuckle, but honestly couldn’t be bothered to do more than shuffle further down the couch, his toes peeking out of the warmth of the blanket. He could have sworn he felt a hand push the hair out of his face, not that his word had any real weight. It didn’t matter though; he was already sinking back to sleep somewhere deep in the soft leather. 

  



	3. Three.

**** You know what, screw _ Clint _ . The guy is great, really he is, and in the few months that Steve had known him he’d really grown to like him - _ but _ , and there was a but - he knew _ nothing _ about organization. 

Normally, Steve could handle it. He’s very civil about his roommate’s ‘tidying’ habits, even if that meant sometimes having to dig through the food pantry for blue-tack, or coming home to find a compound bow hanging off of a lamp. He could deal - and if sometimes he stress organized the spices because he found an arrow in the laundry bin, then that’s his damage. But times like this, Steve had had _ enough _. 

**Steve:** ** _ where on gods green earth did you put the decongestants clint _ **

**Clint: ** ** _Dresser, next to the psych textbook. Bucky is on his way over. _ **

Steve groaned aloud. Never once had Clint ever used proper punctuation in a text. 

**Steve: ** ** _nat please I’m fine. no parental supervision required_ **

**Clint: ** ** _Nice try, asshole. I’ve seen you sick. He’ll be there in ten. _ **

Steve slammed his phone down on the counter, stomping his way to Clint’s room. What, he’s allowed to be moody, okay? The cold medication was right where Nat said it was, and his fear/respect of her Clint-Wrangling prowess increased. Scary, that woman. Heading back to the kitchen, he reached for his phone. He was _ not _ making Bucky go out of his way, _ again _. It had been a month since the whole Halloween debacle, as Steve had started to secretly call it. As far as he knew, only Nat knew about it (Bucky didn’t really seem like the type to gossip). He’d seen him exactly twice, and both times had been what was probably much more awkward that necessary (by no fault of Bucky’s). Steve wasn’t good at this whole friend thing, never had been. 

**Steve: ** ** _pls don’t come, don’t listen to nat_ **

**Steve: ** ** _she’s crazy_ **

**Steve: ** ** _i’m fine_ **

Bucky didn’t respond. He was probably already on his way over. 

Shit. 

Steve all but threw himself on the couch, a knit blanket over his shoulder that definitely belonged to Clint. Re: Screw Clint and his dumb girlfriend, he’s_ fine. _

Steve resigned himself to a life of pouting and grumbling until Bucky showed up, which, to his credit was remarkably quick. There was a knock at his dorm door, and when he went to call for Bucky to enter he found it turning into more of a hacking cough rather than any legible words. Bucky entered with a knowing look. 

“Fine, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Oooh, she said you’d be tricky.” 

Steve groaned and it sounded suspiciously like _ ‘fuck Nat too.’ _

Bucky laughed, leaning over the back of the couch. He started to say something, but stopped when he saw Steve. 

“Shit, Steve.” 

Steve coughed. 

“Look that good, do I?” Steve hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, but he had been sick enough times to know what he must look like, and it’s not a pretty sight. His face sunk in and his pale skin was splashed with all the wrong colours. His eyes hollowed and his hands shook. 

“No I didn’t me…” Bucky paused, his face contorted with worry, then morphed into resolve, “You’re coming back with me to my place.” 

“What? No I’m not.” 

Bucky stood straight up. 

“Yup, you are. I’ve made the executive decision,” He started walking towards the door, “Nat told me to check up on you, but this is not a check up kind of deal here.” 

Bucky stood by the door. 

“I have to study at home, but I'm taking you with me. Which one’s are your shoes?” 

Steve turned around roughly to face Bucky. 

“I've been sick loads worse than this tons of times, I’m fine.” He pulled the blanket around himself tighter, holding his ground. “It’s probably not even pneumonia.” 

Bucky stared at him. 

“You have to see why that doesn’t help your case.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“I’m not leaving without you, I don’t care how stubborn you are, Rogers.” 

  
  
  


Steve shut the door of ‘The Falcon,’ Sam’s car, on the trailing edge of Clint’s blanket. He didn’t bother to fix it. 

Steve reached a hand for the console, but was stopped by Bucky swatting it away. 

“Ah ah ah, ungrateful passengers don’t get to control the tunes, house rules.” 

“We’re in a car, not a house.” Steve crossed his arms.

It was a very slow drive to Bucky’s apartment. 

When they _ (finally) _ got there to Bucky’s apartment, another spat was right around the corner. Bucky, having seriously underestimated Steve’s stubbornness when it comes to manners, had offered up his bed for Steve to rest in. (Sam’s, while also unoccupied, was a predetermined no-go area) Steve was flattered really, at how courteous Bucky was being looking back at the past twenty minutes and the whole of Halloween. Thinking back to any part of Hallween threatened a painful headache behind the eyes whenever Steve thought back on it, and he wasn’t even the one getting drunkenly hit on. Bucky though, was acting the complete gentleman, casually not mentioning Steve’s feelings, and instread threating to bodily move him to his bed if he so much as sniffled. Steve settled into the plush couch, swapping Clint’s blanket for one of Bucky’s. Bucky was probably straight anyways. 

Steve reached for the bag he had brought with him, unearthing a textbook and propping it up on his knee before sifting through a pouch of highlighters. 

“Are you seriously studying right now?” Bucky was in the arm chair, a textbook of his own in hand. 

“So are you, what about it.” Steve uncapped a highlighter with his teeth.

“Yeah but I’m not suffering from some great affliction.” 

“Great affliction?” Steve snorted out a laugh, “I have a cold. 

“Exactly my point, you should be watching reruns of Gossip Girl. That’s what you _ do _when you’re sick.” 

“Gossip Girl?” Bucky, evidently, was a box of surprises. 

“Xoxo,” Bucky said, blowing Steve a kiss. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Steve flipped a page of his textbook, “When you get sick as much as I do, you learn to function through it.” 

Bucky gave him a long regarding look, as if he was trying to decide whether to swaddle Steve and go searching for the vapo-rub. 

“Fine, but if you fall asleep while you’re doing it, I will not hesitate to send a photo to Nat.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Barnes.” Steve’s eyes were already skimming the open chapter. 

Steve was asleep within thirty minutes. 

His phone dinged with a notification. 

**Bucky: A soldier fallen in battle, 1943 (colourized) **

A photo of a very coddled Steve accompanied it. 

**Natasha: ** ** _Get him another blanket, you monster. _ **

  
  


Waking, Steve shoved a blanket he didn’t recognize off his sleep warm shoulders. Shutting his book, he ran a hand over his sweat tacky face. It didn’t take him long to see the notification in the movie night group chat, but when he went to verbally accost Bucky, he found the great lug of a hypocrite asleep in the armchair, his head tipped back and mouth comically open. 

Steve grinned with an idea, checking the time, he slipped to his feet. Padding softly to the kitchen he tore out a page of his notebook. 

  


_ I’ve gone to class. Don’t worry about me, I feel fine. Stellar, actually. _

_ PS: Check the groupchat _

  


Steve slipped on his shoes, hurrying to make it to class. Bucky’s phone pinged. 

**Steve: ** ** _B. Barnes, the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country_ **

**Natasha: ** ** _Rogers, get your skinny ass back there._ **

Steve didn’t respond, only focusing on rushing to get to class as fast as his lungs would let him. He needed to have a conversation with her one day about how she was perpetually one step ahead of you at all times. It was eerie. And annoying. 

He tossed a deep-immune in his mouth and headed towards the building where his ethics class was. When he got there and took a seat, he was only a handful of minutes late, huffing and puffing, and feeling very proud of himself

Steve’s respite was short lived however, as he soon found himself nodding off occasionally, always making sure to throw his professor an apologetic look when he could. Professor Banner looked mostly confused and concerned. 

  
  


Steve, searching in his bag for a highlighter he could only assume must be tucked into the cushions of Bucky’s couch, missed the telltale sound of the auditorium door opening. 

Professor Banner paused his lecture. 

“Can I help you, Mr…” 

“Barnes. I hope so, I’m looking for Steve Rogers? Blond, yea high?” 

Steve groaned as he turned in his seat. How the hell did Bucky even know where to find him? 

Bucky looked haggard, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to fee too bad. (okay, maybe he felt a little bad, but he left a note!) 

“I’m so sorry Doctor Professor Banner,” Bucky had spotted Steve and was rushing towards his seat.

“I have to take him with me, it’s urgent.” Bucky way trying to grab Steves bag as Steve tried to frantically shoo him out. 

“Oh of course, of course,” Professor Banner’s eyes crinkled in a smile. 

Bucky wrenched Steve out of his seat. It looked less gentle than it felt. 

Ignoring his headrush, Steve started spewing apologies as Bucky tugged him towards the door. 

“Really, no problem at all,” Professor Banner waved them out. 

“Oh and Mr. Barnes?” They both turned to look at Professor Banner, “I’m trusting you’ll get him some warm soup, won’t you?” 

Bucky smiled.

“Course I will. Nurse Barnes on duty.” Bucky saluted, and they were out of the room. 

  
  


Steve was pouting again, at this point you’d have thought it was a symptom of the cold. 

“Bucky, I told you, I’m fine.” Steve’s thumb was rubbing small circles into the cracked leather of the couch. 

“Yup, uh huh.” He came out of the kitchen, reaching for the blanket on the armrest of the couch and draping it over Steve with the soft slide of smooth fabric. Steve shivered as Bucky’s warm hand ghosted past his neck. 

“And that’s totally why Doctor Banner…” 

“Professor.” 

“Why Doctor Professor Banner could tell you were sick from one look at your scrawny ass.” 

Steve laughed. 

“You know that’s not what he’s called.” 

Bucky put his hands on his hips. 

“Uh buh buh, nope, sick people do not get to talk.” 

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted. 

“Nope.” Bucky pointed a finger at Steve, “Not. A. Word.” Bucky backed up into the kitchen, finger still pointed at a smiling Steve. “I’ll tie you to that couch, I will. Doctors orders.” 

  
  


Steve, stubborn to the end, turned his attention back to his ethics textbook, trying determinately to ignore his drooping eyelids as he listened to the soft crack of Bucky cutting carrots in the kitchen. He felt his head nod forward and caught it with a snap. If he just closed his eyes for a moment, that wouldn’t mean anything, right? He’s not admitting anything, he’s just sleepy. 

Steve was out cold by the time Bucky came in with a steaming mug of chicken soup. No picture ended up in the groupchat this time, but another blanket did find its way on top of Steve, his cold little fingers clutching it as he sniffed in his sleep. He could have soup when he woke up. 


	4. Four.

Christmas blew into New York on the chilly wind, biting at your nose as you tried to stumble your way through Central Park. Snow melted on hot metropolitan streets, but Bucky and Sam’s apartment wasn’t exactly on Fifth Avenue. 

“You think we can drive in that?” Clint’s nose bumped on the foggy glass of the window. 

“Depends, are you a coward?” 

Despite Natasha, they decided that they could  _ not _ in fact, drive in that. 

“You’re all dumb, you know that? You don’t leave the house in the middle of a polar vortex.” Tony sat on the couch, his feet propped up on the leather armrest. 

“You came too, asshat.” Sam was in the armchair, a textbook in his lap (he was wearing the glasses he insisted were  _ not _ his, thank you very much).

Steve was sitting on the kitchen counter, trying to help, but mostly watching Natasha make Russian paskha (“Isn’t that an Easter dish?” “I said it was festive, not for what.” “You know what, alright.”). 

Her hair was up in a little ponytail and there was nutmeg on her cheek - someone would probably pay for not saying anything about it, but that person would also probably be Clint so Steve didn’t mention it. 

“So you’re Russian? Like you’re from Russia?” Steve prodded a finger into the bowl next to him, wrinkling his nose up at the taste of plain farmers cheese. 

“Are you going to ask me if I’m part of the KGB?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it, but tell me more, were you born here?” 

“If she told you that, she’d have to kill you.” Bucky appeared next to him, swinging around the side of the kitchen island. Steve’s eyes lingered warmly on the knit sweater he had just changed into. “Nasty folk, the KGB.” 

“The KGB hasn’t been a thing since the nineties!” Tony piped up from the couch where Clint was trying to wrestle a blanket away from him. 

“That’s what you think, Stark.” Natasha pointed her whisk at Tony. 

Steve plucked at the arm of Bucky’s sweater, “I didn’t realize you had a tacky and festive setting, Buck.” 

“Yeah well, being tall dark and handsome all the time makes a guy do funny things.” 

“Like buy a sweater with tinsel sewn into it?” Steve laughed. ‘ _ Get lit,’ _ proclaimed the Christmas tree on Bucky’s chest. 

“Like buy a Christmas sweater with tinsel sewn into it,” Bucky nodded in solemn affirmation. 

Their real Christmas tree glittered in the corner of the sitting area, its plastic spindly branches adorned with all sorts of havoc. There were iron-man ornaments from Tony’s childhood and odd Russian ones from Natasha’s, Clint had added a small ornament of Legolas, Steve had made popcorn on string, and the rest had made do with various baubles. It was… eclectic (although there had been many other choice words chosen to describe it when they had put it together earlier). It had taken the six of them wrassling with it to get it out of the box and standing, and from there they had proceeded to cover it with the wild amalgamation of childhood memorabilia and shiny things. 

It made Steve a little glassy eyed to look at. 

“Remind me again why we’re not at my house?” Tony was leaning off the couch to fiddle with the heater. 

“It’s cozy here,” Bucky called over his shoulder. 

“Yeah cause cozy is totally what broken space heater says to me.” 

“It’s  _ tradition _ ,” Sam spoke without looking up from his book, “y’all always come here for movie night, can’t get you to leave, really.” (This had after all, originally meant to be just an afternoon get-together to uphold the law of movie night {leave it to Christmas Eve to fall on a Saturday} before they all dashed off to wherever holidays insisted they dash off too) 

“Speaking of tradition! Great point Sam,” Bucky slapped the counter in excitement, dodging around Natasha to get out of the kitchen. 

Steve watched as he carded through a shelf of records and pulled out a battered copy of  _ Ella Fitzgerald: Greatest Hits _ . 

“What have I said about bummer music, Barnes!” Sam set his book down on the coffee table, pushing his glasses up his face. 

“Can’t quite remember, but I probably wasn’t listening.” Bucky dropped the needle on the record and the soft crackle of vinyl sounded out in the little apartment. 

“You really are a charmer, Barnes. Anyone ever tell you that?” Sam took the glasses-that-weren’t-his off and kept mumbling angrily. “Really know how to make a guy feel the love.” 

The needle settled onto the record with a soft crackle. 

“And I thought the ones I  _ don’t _ live with were annoying.” 

Ella crooned on. 

Steve watched as Bucky sauntered back over to where he sat on the counter, a new sparkle in his eyes and a new sway in his hips. Lyrics formed quietly and fell from his lips. 

“Tradition?” Steve found himself asking. 

Bucky hummed. 

“New tradition for new family.” 

Taken aback, Steve didn’t respond. And his eyes totally weren’t watering, no, he has no idea what you’re talking about. This was all a little new to him you see, the whole family christmas thing. He felt a little bad of course; the others all probably wished they were with their own families, not snowed in and stuck inside a tiny Brooklyn apartment. But Steve, on the other hand, didn’t feel too bad - he didn’t exactly have a family to wish to be with. His christmas plans had included takeout and the Harry Potter marathon that would inevitably be on television. It had been like that for a few years now, since his Ma passed away. Of course it had been hard, but Steve hadn’t really had any other options other than to be okay and make do. Until now, that is. 

“I’m putting this in the fridge, if a single one of you lays a finger on it, you lose the finger.  _ Capiche _ ?” 

There were sounds of agreement as Natasha stared them down. 

Okay fine, maybe Steve was just a little teary eyed. He slipped off the counter. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve got to um,” he gestured to the window that opened out onto the fire escape, “step out. Um. Asthma.” He turned his back on them, his hand reaching for the cool metal of the latch. 

  
  
  
  


“You better not be getting sick out here.” Bucky stood silhouetted in the light of the window, a little halo of fluffy hair swirling around his head. It had started snowing since Steve had moved outside. 

“I think Doctor Banner would actually murder me if I let that happen again.” He approached Steve, scraping a chair closer to him through the slush. 

Steve puffed out a little laugh, watching his breath mix in the air. There was such a stillness to the night it was almost eerie – New York was never like this. 

“It’s so quiet tonight.” He pulled his blanket tighter around himself, one of the soft brown ones from the couch. 

“Roads are terrible, you’d have to be crazy to go out right now. Ain’t nobody to make noise out there.” Bucky settled into his chair, staring out into the softness of the streetlight like Steve. 

“Mm,” Steve struggled to pull his eyes away from the snow, falling in soft sheets, silencing the world. It made the balcony feel almost private, everything dampened by the snowfall. 

“You should’ve seen the snow we used to get. So thick you thought it was never gonna melt.” Bucky paused, and Steve could hear the smile in his voice. He didn’t talk about home a lot. 

“Wish I could have.” 

Bucky laughed. 

“You say that like upstate’s gone somewhere. It’s still up there, last I checked.” Bucky turned to look at Steve, who caught the motion and mirrored it. 

“I’ll show you sometime, if you like this you’ll love that.” The corners of his eyes crinkled up with a kind of genuineness Steve didn’t understand. 

“Becca used to think the world was ending, she’d cry every time it happened.” Bucky looked back to the street with a laugh. 

“The whole family’d cram in the house, god it was awful, couldn’t get an ounce of privacy. ‘Specially when all the cousins came. You think they’d remember that the roads all close but nope, every year it was a big old Barnes pile-in with no escape.” Bucky trailed off, the fondness of memory carrying on the warm tones of his voice. 

“They all came to your house every year?” Steve’s head supplied an image of twenty Bucky’s in matching pyjamas all stuffed into a comically rustic barn. 

“Like clockwork.” There was a sudden burst of muffled laughter from inside, and both Bucky and Steve smiled. 

“What about you? What’s a Rogers Christmas usually like when you’re not stranded in a bachelor pad?” Bucky nudged an elbow at Steve, who furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Nothing like all that,” he shook his head lightly, “It was just me and ma for as long as I can remember.” 

There was a pause. 

“Was?” Bucky asked quietly, and Steve could feel the weight of his gaze. 

“She passed away a couple years ago, just me now.” 

There was, for a moment, perfect silence. It was so peaceful, so serene. Steve almost let his eyes close.

“Well, you got us now.” 

It took Steve a moment to feel the weight of Bucky’s words. Something in his chest twisted hard and his head felt the sudden hot pounding that came before he cried. 

The window slid open with a rattle. 

“I come bearing cocoa.” Natasha’s red hair came peeking out of the doorway, followed by two mismatched mugs. Steve took a heavy breath, calming himself. 

She stepped out onto the fire escape, steam rising from the mugs she passed into cold hands. They accepted them miraculously nonchalantly for the topic of their interrupted conversation, or at least Steve  _ felt _ like he had managed quite well. 

Bucky hesitated. 

“Has Clint touched these?” 

Steve paused the sip he was about to take. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, opening the window again, “I made sure he was preoccupied with something else to avoid contamination.” 

Steve let out little laugh as he raised the mug again. 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

Steve looked over his mug at Bucky. 

“Thank you too, Buck.” 

Bucky was about to respond when the window rattled again. 

“Oh also, we’re starting a Christmas-eve gifts in t-minus five minutes.” Natasha leaned back out into the snow, looking between the two of them. Steve wondered, with the skepticism that was needed with Natahsha, if she was intentionally snooping. He had come to realize that was due course with her. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” She smiled with just a few too many of her teeth. 

“You give yourself too much credit, Natalia,” Bucky said, standing up. He turned to Steve, a soft look in his eye. 

“Come on Rogers, let’s get you inside.” 

  
  
  
  


“Christmas  _ eve _ gifts?” Steve asked, quickly claiming the last spot on the couch. Everyone was quicking piling into the little space near the tree. 

“Yeah!” Clint was sitting so close to the tree he was basically under it. “Come on, did you never do this as a kid? You get to pick one from under the tree the night before, so the little kids don’t sneak out in the middle of the night and steal ‘em.” 

Steve shook his head, but didn’t feel the need to reminisce that as a kid he usually only ever had one or two gifts on Christmas anyway. 

“Well, unless I hear a formal registered complaint Rogers, I don’t think there’s a lot that can stop me from doing this.” Clint smiled and turned to the rest of the group. 

“Okay, who goes first?” 

There was general murmur, notably, Tony insisting he himself as the oldest go first, but eventually they decided to draw names from Clint’s Santa hat. 

Clints name of course came out first, but really nobody could be bothered to care - Christmas cheer does odd things to competitive people. 

  
  


By the time Steve’s name emerged from the hat, he already had his eye on the gift he was going to pick. It was wrapped in newspaper and all lumpy. It looked like the one’s his ma would give him, the ones that always turned out to be massive sweaters that he was supposed to ‘grow into.’ It looked familiar, and he was curious, which one of his friends would give a gift like this? 

Clint passed it to him, the soft crinkle of the paper echoing the crackle of the propped up laptop screen playing  _ ‘Holiday Yule Log Stream 10 Hrs Version Festive’  _ through its crappy speakers. 

It was light, and there was no name on it - Steve turned it over to tear into the tape with even more curiosity. 

Blue fabric slipped out from the paper, a soft cashmere tumbling out onto his lap. It was a blanket. 

“No  _ way, _ ” Tony’s voice rang out, “Barnes you little bitch.” 

Steve held the blanket up, coming to the realization that it was the exact same one that was wrapped around his shoulders. He looked at Bucky. 

Tony interrupted. 

“Years! Do years of begging mean nothing to you?” 

Everyone burst out into laughter at the pure desperation in Tony’s voice. Bucky had been refusing to tell everyone the source for his blankets, the true cherry on top of the couch. And now, Steve held one in his hands. 

He spread it out, lifting his arms and letting the brown one he had fall from his shoulders. Two things happened at the same time - firstly, a small note fell into his lap, and secondly, he noticed something in the corner. A tiny embroidered shield, it’s star gleaming in pearlescent thread. Steve’s face lit up. He grabbed the note. 

_ Stay warm out there, and that’s an order, Captain _ _ _

_ Bucky _

When Steve looked, he found Bucky’s eyes already turned on him. 

“Thank you, Buck,” he threw the blanket around himself, “I love it.” 

Other than snippets of a Christmas movie, general tomfoolery and a bit of eggnog, there’s not much more to the night that Steve remembered. He could recall the new blue blanket, as well as Bucky’s warm smile, but everything had just been so comfortable and warm that Steve had drifted off right there on the couch not long after the round of gifts. 

  
  


When he woke up, it was determinately not as peaceful. 

“Steve!” 

Steve felt the disorienting weight of two people landing on top of him, yanking him out of whatever sugar plum fairy dreams he might have been having. 

“Wake up, it’s Christmas!” Natasha and Clint smiled down at him from their gargoyle like perches on top of him. This appeared to be one of their few but terrifying moments of similarity. 

“It’s the asscrack of dawn is what is is,” Sam grumbled from nearby on the carpet, empty eggnog glass nearby, “Santa ain’t even been here yet.” 

“Oh come on, lighten up Mr. Grinch.” Bucky emerged yawning from his room, clad in sweatpants and a completely new Christmas sweater, this one simply proclaiming, ‘ _ naughty list’  _

Sam pulled himself up off the floor, sinking into an arm chair. Steve could only presume that after he’d fallen asleep in his egg nog fuelled sleep, Clint and Natasha had taken his bed. They were the only ones that didn’t seem to be scared of the Wilson brand wrath. 

“You guys are assholes, you know that?” Tony stirred from his cot in the corner, emerging from the sleeping bag that usually lived in Sam’s closet. 

“Morin’ to you too, Tony.” Bucky made his way to the kitchen, smiling a good morning to Steve as he passed. 

“Barnes you better be making coffee,” Tony ran a hand through his messy hair, somehow managing to make it stand up in even more directions. 

“Wouldn’t think of doing anything else.” Bucky started the coffee pot with a grin over his shoulder. 

“I would! It’s time for presents you maniacs!” Clint scrambled over to the tree to begin, with only a small yelp of protest from Steve as an elbow was shoved into his ribs. 

Things digressed from there, but, Steve came to realize, tucked in a soft blanket with a serving of pashka and a room of friends, it was the best Christmas in a long time. He got the feeling the others felt the same way. 


	5. Five.

It was slushy. You know, the kind of weather after the snow ceases to feel seasonal and romantic and instead feels like wet socks and disappointment. Most metropolitan streets were relatively slush free, but too many others were caked in grey ice and melting snow. 

Steve found himself sludging through one such street, his hands shoved deep into his pockets so they didn’t shake. Then, right in front of him, it happened. 

There was a honk, first. His eyes shot up, searching for the sound as two cars slammed into each other in the intersection. There was a horrible crunch. It was the crunch and the scream of metal that was honestly the worst part. 

Steve stood. His hands were out his pockets, though he didn’t remember taking them out. Someone was running into the street, should he run too? Steve continued to stand. His hands might have been shaking, though he couldn't have told you. 

He stood there for a good while. He saw the police called, heard the scream of the ambulance. He watched it leave too, the lights off, nobody inside. Both drivers seemed to be safe, though everyone was shaken. At one point, a police officer even came over to ask him for a statement, asking him if he had seen anything. Slush, he had said, distracted by her chattering radio. “I think it was just the slush.”

After that, he remembered walking away. He remembered crying, he remembered being mad at himself for being so shaken up. It had just been something about how fast it had happened, how bad it could have been. Steve’s hands were numb as he wiped away tears. His back hit a brick wall and he stopped walking, the complete halt sending a shiver through his frame. 

He called Natasha first. She didn’t pick up, so he called Peggy. They hadn’t really spoken a lot (ever) in the past few months, but he knew she would come get him if she could. She didn’t pick up either. He didn’t even realize he was dialing untill he heard the familiar voice. 

_ “Steve?”  _

Steve didn’t respond right away, trying to steady his voice. 

_ “Steve? You there?”  _

“Yeah, yeah.” 

_ “What’s wrong, are you okay?”  _ There was a sting of worry in Bucky’s voice. 

“What? Yeah, uh,” Steve trailed off, Bucky was probably busy, this was stupid. 

_ “No you’re not, where are you? What’s going on?”  _

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” Steve knew that Bucky could hear the tears in his voice. 

_ “Are you hurt? Do you have your inhaler?”  _

“I..” Steve didn’t have his inhaler. Leave it to him to forget something like that on just the day he might need it. 

“Can you come get me?” he put his other hand back into a pocket, trying to clench feeling back into it. 

_ “Yes, yes of course,”  _ there were noises over the line. Steve let his head fall back against the brick. 

After telling Bucky where he was, Bucky demanded he stay on the line, not saying much other than the occasional  _ ‘you still there?’  _ Steve appreciated it more than he could really say. 

Soon, Bucky was pulling up and rushing out of the still running car, pulling Steve into a tight hug. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” Steve whispered, hoping Bucky could hear him. Bucky squeezed harder, and Steve guessed that he did. 

“Come on, let’s get you out of the cold.” Bucky lead Steve over and opened his door for him, ushering him inside the warm car. 

“What’d I say about keeping warm, Stevie?” he said, getting into the driver's seat and turning up the heater. He didn’t pull away from the curb, and Steve could feel him looking at him. 

“What…” Bucky stopped, probably wondering if it was okay to ask. 

Steve probably did owe him an explanation. 

“Saw an accident, I’m okay,” he turned to Bucky, “Promise.” 

  
  
  


“Buck, that was my turn,” Steve pointed out the window to a road he thought Bucky would have known by now. 

“If you really think I’m letting you go home to deal with Clint right now you’re fucking wrong.” Bucky startled at the harshness of his own curse, turning a quick sheepish smile to Steve in what was probably an attempt to soften it. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, and just watches as the scenery passes by, trying to think about anything but just how quick life can change from good to bad. 

They ended up going the long way. The  _ really  _ long way. No way they were even in the city anymore. Only when they pulled into the parking lot of a little diner did Steve realize this wasn’t some absurd scenic route to Bucky’s apartment. 

  
  
  
  


Steve's chamomile with steaming gently on the table of the diner booth. It was glossy and vaguely tacky, sticking to the tips of his fingers as he tapped them. Steve’s wet coat was crumpled on the vinyl of the seat next to him. Bucky took a sip of his coffee. You could hear a dishwasher in the kitchen, the muffled hum of it. There was a television playing somewhere too, but the only thoughts that ever strayed to it quickly found themselves elsewhere.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Bucky said, touching Steve’s hand with one of his own, warm from his cup. Steve stopped tapping his fingers. 

“Thank you.” 

Speaking had never really been his thing, and somehow the relief of being allowed to be quiet was completely overwhelming him with gratitude.

“I mean, you can if you want to – Promise I’m a good listener, you can’t be friends with Stark and not be,” Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, “but don’t feel obligated.”

Steve offered a shaky smile, hoping what came across was gratitude. When he looked up into Bucky’s eyes he saw a hardness he wasn’t expecting. He was smiling, but his jaw was clenched. If Steve looked down, he could see the whites of Bucky’s knuckles clutching at the curve of his diner mug. Silence stretched between them, the kind of silence places like this seemed to sell along with the burnt coffee.

“Can you talk?” Steve eyes were turned away as he spoke, at some salt shaker or napkin holder. “Just like, um, tell me about your day.” He felt the pressure of Bucky’s hand on his again, grounding him back in his seat.

He could feel the metal lip of the table leaving an indent in his forearm. Bucky’s hand was still warm.

He didn’t pull away.

“M’good at that too.” Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine. Some of the hardness in his body softened. “My day was good.” His voice was slow, calm. It reminded Steve of his ma, and how when she’d speak it was like there was no hurry in the world to do anything in the world but talk to him.

“I’ve always liked classes in winter,” Bucky continued, “they feel cosier, no warm sun to wish you were in.” Bucky took a sip of his coffee.

“I’ve got psych with Sam first thing, he went on this whole rant about veterans, I think even the Prof was all slack jawed. You know how he gets.”

Steve realized that he did in fact know how Sam gets.

Bucky continued, and Steve felt a smile creep onto his face, listening to him speak all low and slow. All of Bucky’s stories, Steve noticed, seemed to be catered specifically to Steve. Things he cared about, people he knew, professors they shared. It was something he had never really picked up on in Bucky before.

Bucky told stories without end, always watching Steve for smiles and nods that said,  _ I’m okay, this is okay. _

_ _

Soon though, Steve found himself not needing to assure. He was just listening, just enjoying hearing everything that Bucky had to tell him – falling into the rhythm of his voice, imagining his friends’ faces and the way they must have said the things Bucky was relaying. Maybe, he thought, it was all the family Bucky had that made him so good at this. All that telling stories and listening to theirs, waiting to get a word in edgewise and wanting to make it a good one. Steve grinned, imagining it, and Bucky tilted his head.

“Got something you want to tell the class?”

Steve felt his face heat up in embarrassment at being caught not paying attention.

“You’re really good at telling stories.” Steve looked up and caught Bucky’s huge grin.

“You think so? I used to be the designated bedtime storyteller back home, could always put all the kids right to sleep.”

Steve smiled harder, his chest warm with the image.

“Bet they loved you.” Silence found its way back again as they looked in each other’s eyes, each with a hand laying almost forgotten on the table in front of them. Almost.

When they broke eye contact, it was only so Bucky could look at the waitress approaching behind Steve.

“We’re packing up in the back for closing, just wanted to let you boys know,” she gave them a warm, motherly sort of smile, “be careful out there in the slush.”

The drive back to Bucky’s was spent mostly quietly, with a surprisingly few amount of protests from Steve. Being not-alone outweighed a good amount of courtesy right now. When they got there, the sun had almost completely set, what little amount of colour that could break through the clouds came in through the window. It didn’t take long though, before the pitter-patter of rain and slush started trying to come in as well.

“Can I get you anything?”

Steve watched Bucky putter about, turning on the heat and some lamps.

“M’alright, really, Buck.”

Bucky stood with his hands on his hips like he didn’t know where he should be. It was odd. Bucky wasn’t the kind of person who usually radiated ‘out of place.’

Steve unthinkingly moved over on the couch to make room.

Bucky flashed him a smile and immediately started moving to join him.

“Why do we call you Bucky?”

“Have I really not told you?” Bucky looked at Steve as he sat down.

Steve shook his head.

“Well then, I think I owe you an introduction.” Bucky outstretched his hand, palm up.

“James Buchanan Barnes, at your service.”

Steve placed his hand in Bucky’s, trying out the new name in his head.

“So that’s why Nat calls you James.”

Steve watched as Bucky lifted their hands, bringing his lips down to meet the back of Steve’s hand in the whisper of a kiss.

Steve shivered as Bucky let go.

“Yeah, she’s been on that for years. Ever since she found out in high school.”

Steve regained his composure, grabbing a blanket from the arm of the couch.

“You went to school with Nat?”

Steve hadn’t kept in contact with a single person from his childhood.

“Yup, her and Tony. You can imagine what kind of shit we got into, they were even more of a pair of bastards back then.”

Steve tried to imagine them all as teenagers, tried to erase lines of time from Bucky’s face, smiling at him in the present.

What would it have been like, he wondered, if they had all met back then. Would they still have been friends? Steve wasn’t listening to what Bucky was saying. Would none of this ever have happened? Or what if things had been just a little different, what if Natasha had never introduced him to everyone? He clenched a hand on the blanket. Why did life have to be so fleeting and stupid?

Despite all of his (and Bucky’s best efforts), his mind strayed back to what had happened earlier. Why was everything the way it was? God? Some inescapable cosmic plan? Or was it chance, luck. Some indeterminate amalgamation of choices you made and random dorm mate selection.

“What are you thinking about?”

“What?” Steve looked wide-eyed at Bucky, a little embarrassed at being caught not paying attention.

“I can see your gears moving, what’s on your mind?”

Steve paused; how could he verbalize any of that without making Bucky uncomfortable or ending up back in counselling?

“Doesn’t matter, just, you know,” Steve waved his hand, “stuff.”

“Yeah but it’s your stuff, I wanna hear about it.”

Steve felt a little pang of something.

“I dunno, just,” Steve paused again, chewing on his lip, “d’you think we would have been friends? If things had been different?” He regretted it as soon as he said it, watching Bucky puzzle out his reply.

“Would it be too cheesy if I said I do?”

Steve blinked.

“But what if Nat never introduced us, or we didn’t do movie nights, or do them here, of if Tony had never thrown that party, or-”

“Whoa, Stevie, calm down.”

Bucky’s voice grounded him; it had a habit of doing that.

“Maybe it sounds crazy, but I think,” you could hear the grin in his voice, “we woulda found each other. Something tells me there’s not a lot that would have made fate change her mind.”

Steve felt that pang again.

“You really think that?”

“Yeah, Steve, I do. Who knows, maybe we even knew each other in a past life, some hooey reincarnation shit.”

Steve felt like his heart was going to either stop or explode.

“I’ll take that.” They smiled at each other. “Even if it is hooey reincarnation crap.”

Just then, the door opened, revealing a very wet and grumpy looking Sam.

“Uh.” He unzipped his coat and took it off, his face turning from angry to almost dumbstruck.

“I’ll just,” he skirted through the living area, sticking to the walls like a frightened animal, “don’t mind me.”

Steve let out an awkward laugh.

“What’s up with him?”

Bucky shrugged, some of his hair falling into his face.

Steve moved to push it away but was cut short when Bucky turned his head to the side, shushing Steve.

If you listened closely, which Bucky and Steve were, you could hear the faint hushed sounds of Sam yelling into his phone. He really wasn’t as good at whispering as he thought he was.

“Do you make a habit of eavesdropping?” Steve whispered.

“Only when it’s interesting.”

“Noted.”

Sam’s call ended, and not long after, he appeared in the living area again.

“M’goin out.” His head was down, and he didn’t make eye contact with either of them as he hastily put on his wet coat and left again.

“That was weird, right?”

“Definitely weird.”

“Who do you think he called?” Steve could tell Bucky was wondering the same thing. It’s probably none of their business… but come on, it’s Sam. His business is basically their business.

“My bets are on Nat, she’s the only one that actually prefers calling over texting.”

“Smart, smart.” Steve was suspicious, as he would be with anything involving Natasha - he loved her he really did, she was just sneaky as hell and knew it. Why did Sam leave so quickly? 

They never did manage to puzzle it through that day, though, unbeknownst to Steve, he actually did once almost guess it - not that he voiced his guess to Bucky. They both just decided to enjoy the privacy, falling into comfortable positions curled up on the couch. There was rain battering on the window as Steve eventually drifted off into the soft warmth of Bucky’s henley, the two of them having momentarily lapsed into comfortable silence. Steve’s phone buzzed on the table, though neither of them heard it. 

**Natasha: ** ** _Me and Clint dibs the dorm tonight, not that I think you need it ;)_ **


	6. And One.

Movie night, ever the unbreakable tradition, fell on Valentines Day, come February. For most it wasn’t an issue, Clint and Natasha weren’t exactly itching to go out on a fancy date, Steve and Bucky were both single, and Tony had come to the agreement with Pepper that they would celebrate the next day - apparently some statement she was making on commercialism and tackiness. Only Sam was missing, but everyone understood that Riley wasn’t in town much, so they let this one slide. This meant though, that if they really squished, they could all fit on the couch, and what better holiday to get a little too acquainted with your friends. Steve lay mostly draped on top of everyone, and Clint was crunched up on Natasha’s lap. It worked. Not well, but it worked.

“All right everyone, who’s ready to watch some serious cinematography,” Natasha held remote in her hand, selecting play on the screen. The title of the cheesy rom-com she had chosen was apparently ‘Super Heart: The Love Story That Might Just End the World, Or Save It’ Leave it to Natasha to find something that horrid.

Everyone cheered.

A good way in and many jokes later, Clint pointed at one of the characters on the screen.

“That one reminds me of Steve, self sacrificing little shit.” The bottle of Fireball he had pulled out was dangling from his hand. (“Festive” he had called it, his breath smelling of cinnamon hearts)

“The tall stoic one reminds me of Barnes, too loyal, I don’t trust like that.” Tony chimed in, stealing the bottle and taking a swig.

Steve just hoped they couldn’t all see him blush. The two characters were the main love interests, you see. It really didn’t help that Clint and Tony got really attached to this particular joke, continually pointing out similarities. Natasha, for her part, was suspiciously quiet. Steve cast her a questioning glare from halfway on top of her, and was ignored out of hand. She chose the movie after all - she couldn’t have done that on purpose, right? Steve had been wondering for a while now if she knew about his feelings for Bucky. He thought he told her that he had asked him out on Halloween, but she also knew he rejected him, could she possibly have figured out that he still felt like that? He didn’t really have any evidence, per se, simply the fact that Natasha seemed to know everything she shouldn’t. Steve squirmed on everyone’s laps, suddenly suspicious and antsy. Tony complained about his bony legs. Steve grabbed the bottle.

The movie droned on a little, and they all faded into perhaps a little more drunkenness than they had originally planned, but that was okay, because sooner than later Clint was demanding they played truth or dare, which was really more fun when you were drunk anyways.

Steve watched as Natasha agreed a little all too slyly, but said nothing, settling comfortably into the circle on the floor with the rest of them.

“I’ll go first!” Tony jumped at the silence, squinting at them all like he was sizing them up. Probably guessing who would be the most likely to say truth, if Steve had to guess. Always a nosey bitch, Tony.

“Steve, truth or dare.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Uh, truth?” Steve was already frightened of what Tony could ask.

Tony grinned a little too wide, not doing much to assuage Steve’s worry.

“How many relationships have you been in?”

Steve groaned. He hadn’t really ever talked about this with them; it wasn’t something he brought up much. He’d only ever really been in one serious relationship, which wasn’t crazy, he’s barely past twenty, but still, not something he really flaunts.

“Um, one? Well, not technically, like? There was grade school stuff, but that’s not really real, so I guess like one because Peggy is probably the only one that really-”

“Peggy Carter?!”

There was a general uproar. Peggy Carter was a touch of a living legend at their school, her neat hair bobbing at the front of every rally and committee, her red lipstick kiss a signature at every protest. Natasha had waxed poetic about her more than once, much to Clint’s chagrin. Everyone seemingly had something to say about their little Stevie dating Peggy Carter, everyone but Bucky apparently. He just sat back and listened, face passive. Steve tried to rush past the conversation and continue the game as fast as possible.

Eventually it loops around to Natasha, her fiery hair surprisingly dishevelled in that almost purposeful looking manner.

“Bucky, truth or dare, and be interesting, won’t you?”

“Yikes Nat, didn’t know whiskey made you bossy,” Bucky pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Truth.”

Steve saw Natasha’s smile before he registered her voice.

“How about you, how many people have you been with?”

Bucky sat back to think, his eyes turned to the ceiling.

“What are you doing, making a grocery list?” Tony asked after a moment.

“Okay, been with or been with, cause those are very different lists?” Bucky’s face was a little flushed with the game and the bottle in his hand.

“Tell me about it, Stud.” Tony said, raising his mug of whiskey in a toast.

“Like, ‘m not saying I sleep around, but I’ve had a few one night stands, nothing wrong with bringin’ a guy home for a night.”

The bottom fell out of Steve’s stomach. Bucky was into guys. Bucky wasn’t straight, he just wasn’t into Steve. Steve was so distracted by this that he didn’t even hear Bucky finish the question. He must have though.

“Steve, you good? Truth or dare, come on,” Bucky was looking at him expectantly.

Steve felt bitter, the alcohol feeling rancid in his throat.

“Dare.”

Clearly, he had stumped Bucky leaned back on his arms, eyes still trained on Steve.

“Just go for it the next time you think you like someone, don’t hold back, you deserve it,” Bucky gave Steve and earnest smile, but Steve was reeling with the whiplash. Could he know? Could he feel the same way? Had he been so stupid, or was he just making things up? Steve tried to glean something from Bucky’s smile, but the only thing he got what that whatever Bucky had meant, he had meant it honestly.

“Ugh. This is the most boring fucking game of truth or dare I’ve played since the seventh grade.” Tony was clearly not in any sort of state similar to Steve, though he would also whole-heartedly support stopping.

“Well, I think it’s time me and Clint head of to bed.” Natasha stood, yanking Clint with her.

“What?”

“Come on.” And with that, she lugged him out of the room and into Sam’s empty room.

Moments later, Tony’s phone rang.

“I uh, gotta take this, it’s Pepper” Tony stood up quickly, only stumbling a little as he only other room with a door that wasn’t Bucky’s room, which happened to be the washroom, to take his call. Steve had been almost sure the caller ID had said Natasha, but he was really too tired to care.

Steve and Bucky ended up finishing the movie together, watching the leads get together and the world saved, all of the quips and jokes from earlier gone. It was peaceful, and Steve nearly drifted off more than a couple times. Bucky was about the same amount of worse for wear, sitting at the other end of the couch. Steve almost let himself get comfortable a number of times as well, but for the most part was stricken with worry as to where he even stood with Bucky. At this point, he had no clue.

“I guess it’s time to go to bed, huh?” Bucky said as both of their eyes followed the rolling credits.

Bucky stood, slowly shutting the TV off and walking to the door of his room, there though, he paused. He looked hesitantly at Steve, some sort of goodnight hanging unspoken.

“Hey Buck?” Steve’s throat was still warm with the fireball.

Bucky’s response was immediate.

“Yeah, Stevie?”

It was then that the blanket Steve had around him took its moment to fall down. It was the blue one. The one from Bucky.

Bucky was beside him in moments, pulling his back up around him.

“Will you be warm enough, out here? The temperature always drops this time of year, you know.”

There was a beat.

“Well I mean I guess a bed would be warmer but…” Whatever musing Steve was going to continue with was interrupted.

“Come to mine, you can take it.” Bucky said, already helping Steve to his feet.

For all his usual polite bickering, Steve couldn’t bring himself to protest. Something was keeping him mouth shut.

Bucky helped him under the covers, tucking the soft blue blanket among the folds of his own.

Bucky moves around the room, quietly shutting off any lamps or lights, pausing to hover again the door, the light of the hallway illuminating him.

Steve tries to think of something to say, wondering if, if there was a moment to say something, would this be the best one? Was this what Bucky had been talking about?

“It might be warmer,” Steve started, his breath a soft rattle, “if there was someone else under the covers.”

Bucky smiles, ducking back into the room, making his way carefully over to the bed. Steve feels it shift in the dark. The world is dark and new, quiet and still. He hopes the cover of night can hide how scared he is.

“You should come closer, you know, it might be warmer,” Steve said, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. Steve opened the soft envelope of his blanket, inviting in Bucky with the rush of cool air. Bucky clambered over, always tentative with his movements.

“Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve could feel his heart fluttering like a little bird clutched in a hand. 

“You uh, warmer yet?”

“N-not quite,” Steve touched Bucky softly, breaking some sort of invisible barrier that had been there for months, unseen. Immediately Bucky was touching him too, a hand on his arm and one softly touching his face. Steve wondered if Bucky could feel how hot he was, feel his heartbeat. Steve looked him deep in the eyes, feeling the softness of his breath on his eyelashes and cheeks.

“Brrrr,” he said, and then, plain as anything, they were kissing. It’s a sweet kind of warmth, to kiss someone in the dark surrounded by soft blankets. And Steve liked it very much, thank you.

Steve didn’t sleep on the couch that night. Steve won’t sleep on the couch ever again - he has something much better now. And that really is saying something. It’s a damn good couch. 


	7. Chapter 7

When Steve woke up, the first thing he noticed was not anything you might expect. It wasn’t the arm pulled around his waist, or the soft breath on his neck, no, it was actually Natasha, standing in the doorway to Bucky’s room. A hand on her hip as she blew him a kiss. Steve went back to sleep, it was too early to deal with that, so he didn't. Crazy friends could wait until he's had a proper lay in. 

Eventually though, him and Bucky’s got up - they took their sweet time, but the smell of coffee proved to be just enticing enough to lure them out. They were welcomed with a round of applause, and Steve considered heavily the option of crawling back into bed. 

“If it took you one day longer I was going to claw my ears out, Natasha has been talking about getting you two together for _ months, _” Clint had the haggard look of a man hungover, but with an added smile. They were all smiling. 

Steve turned to look at Natasha, raising an incredulous eyebrow. 

She widened her smiling, baring just a few too many of her teeth like a little child might. 

Steve grabbed her coffee and took a sip. 

“Come on, that’s all the thanks I get?” She didn’t try to take her coffee back, this was clearly more entertaining to her. 

“I’m flattered Nat, you finally used your powers for good.” Bucky came up behind Steve, running a hand along his lower back as he moved to take a seat. 

Natasha looked pointedly at Steve, clearly trying to taunt a similar response from him. 

Steve gave her the finger, and still holder her coffee he took a seat on Bucky’s lap. 

“Oh god, are they going to be lovey dovey? I think I might vomit if they get lovey dovey.” Tony held his mug of coffee like it was the only thing grounding him to reality. Knowing Tony, it probably was. 

“You know what, Tony? I think that’s a you problem.” Bucky put an arm around Steve like a seatbelt, holding him close. 

“It’s an us problem if my aim is good enough.” Tony got up to refill his cup. 

“You know what, I think this might just be tolerable though,” Tony returned, three cups balancing in his hands, he handed the other two to Bucky and Natasha, “If my tabs on the food chain is correct, I officially have dibs on sleeping on the couch,” Tony raised his mug, “and _ that _is something to celebrate.” 

It was a good morning, it was like any other, honestly, not much was different. Just the little things, the tentative touches they wouldn’t have dared before, the little smiles that sometimes devolved into laughs - not at anything in particular, just the absurdity of it all really. They had time to sort everything out later, to figure out what had happened, what was to come, but for now, it was just the morning that they had to get through. Just trying to convince Tony out of his fifth cup of coffee, just casting suspicious glances at Natasha every now and then. Nothing they hadn’t done hundreds of times before, nothing they wouldn’t do hundreds of times again. If Steve ever found himself wondering about fate, he always came to the conclusion that either she had a personal relationship with Natasha, or that she had been playing some odd couch themed long haul game - but he didn't mind, he had Bucky now, and if he had to sleep on a couch a few times to do it? Well, that's fine, cause you know they were all right. It was a _damn _good couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked that! I've had the idea in my head since the day that interview came out, and I'm so happy to finally have this be a thing!
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> xx Addie


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